MONTREAL - When the phone line clicked and Patti Smith’s unmistakable voice was heard, the first words she spoke to The Gazette were an apology for missing a previously scheduled interview: “I had a flight that didn’t make it.” This reinforces two essential truths about Smith as a person and as an artist: she is gracious, and she is a traveller.

Smith has journeyed a great distance in four decades, both in artistic terms – rock icon, poet, visual artist, memoirist – and in kilometres. For that matter, Smith journeys a great distance on Banga (released on Tuesday), her first album of original songs in eight years.

The new compositions are global in scope, from the concise, affectionate Amy Winehouse remembrance This Is the Girl to the sprawling, raging Constantine’s Dream. They are also global in terms of inspiration: Fuji-san recognizes the ancient strength of Japan in light of last year’s earthquake and tsunami; the hallucinatory Tarkovsky (The Second Stop Is Jupiter) is a cosmic meditation that draws from the work of the titular Russian filmmaker – just one of the auteurs and historical figures to be honoured in the discography of Smith, a voracious fan of art in its many forms.

Tarkovsky is among three tracks on Banga that have roots in Russia – and not just in the territory’s culture. During the four years of intermittent writing and recording that went into the album, songs were conceived in Russia and Italy, among other locales. The birthplaces weren’t irrelevant to the content, and the content wasn’t irrelevant to Smith’s life.

“I like my travels to be akin with my studies,” Smith said, “and so when I started being smitten with (author Mikhail) Bulgakov and started reading a lot of Russian literature and then watching a lot of Tarkovsky, being very immersed in Russian culture, I got some jobs in Russia.

“But I’ve always done that. We have very idiosyncratic tours – I always make sure that the band does well financially, but a lot of our tours are based on things that I’m studying, and I’ll make choices as to where we go so that I can see something special. I might want to go to Stockholm because I’m studying (writer August) Strindberg, or go to the English countryside where Charlotte Brontë wrote.”

The intersection of Smith’s studies, travels and music may be most clearly marked by Constantine’s Dream. The 10-minute piece (“song” seems inadequate) features an impassioned narrative that weaves together Columbus’s voyage to the New World, the life and work of Renaissance painter Piero della Francesca, the pastoral ideal personified by St. Francis of Assisi, and environmental cataclysm. It’s a remarkable achievement, not least because the words are improvised.

A disproportionate stretch of Smith’s conversation with The Gazette revolved around Constantine’s Dream, in part because it demands a disproportionate amount of attention. Smith prepared for her lyrics with an estimated two years of study about its subjects, including pilgrimages to Italian sites associated with St. Francis.

“I read so many books to make a 10-minute improvisation,” Smith said with a laugh. “I have a roomful of books that I distilled down into those 10 minutes. And when I was ready, I went into the studio, the band was there to give me encouragement, and I improvised my lyrics. I did two takes, and I think we used the second one. It’s all one take on the record.”

The encouragement of her band can’t be overstated. While the album’s patchwork was stitched together from far-flung sessions that took place over a prolonged period, Banga has a stable, communal core.

“I’ve been working with (guitarist) Lenny Kaye since 1971, with my drummer (Jay Dee Daugherty) since ’75 and with (bassist) Tony Shanahan since ’95,” Smith said, “and this record – more than any other record, I think – really reflects our growth and our unity.

“I actually cut out three or four of the songs that I wrote myself, just because they reflected my own sensibilities more than the sensibility of the band. And there was unity all around. That’s what the song Banga (named for the loyal dog in Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita) is about. You know, it’s sort of an absurd little song, but it’s really about love and loyalty. It’s my song for the band.

“And there’s so much trust. I trusted Tony Shanahan to make some demos on his own, and I’ve never done that before. They trusted Lenny and I to go to Italy; Seneca was done live in Italy without the band. And then we would all reconvene; we would all be together when we’d be mixing it or I’d be redoing the vocal. So every song, everyone was present. Whether they worked on it or not, or conceived of it or not.”

Smith differentiates between the creative impulses of her band members: Constantine’s Dream “is Lenny’s territory. That’s what Lenny and I, when we’re on our own, tend to write. When Tony and I are together, we’ll write a song like This Is the Girl.” As evidenced by the Winehouse memorial’s sculpted bittersweetness, Shanahan is “the one who’s most pop-oriented. I’m not saying that he’s completely pop – he’s also innovative. … He loves the Beatles and the Beach Boys – more pop than the rest of us – but he’s evolved with us and he’s become a great improviser, and now will go for the less traditional idea much more than he did when he was younger.”

Smith half-jokingly assesses Shanahan’s contributions as having “more of a song-like quality” – and certainly, her own ragged glory has been well documented on album. Improvisation and inspired digressions have been hallmarks of her work since before she kicked off her 1975 debut, Horses, by using a Van Morrison chorus as the springboard for the ramshackle lust of Gloria. From that electric jolt onward, Smith’s performances – both on album and on stage – have been very much of the moment.

“I can play, like, five chords on acoustic guitar or a little piano by ear, but I’m not a musician. I sing, but almost everybody in the world can sing. But I am a performer. And I think that’s my strength, and I’m always in the present when I’m performing live.

“And I go in to do a record with the same type of feeling. Obviously it’s permanent … but the idea is to still communicate with your listener, to give something of yourself at that moment. So we don’t labour on making everything perfect, redoing the vocals 50 times. I’m not a perfect worker, and that’s not the idea. The idea is hopefully people will get a feeling that a human is present, speaking to them or singing to them.”

Smith quickly answers “no” when asked if she has ever written a perfect song, and her bashful laugh proves the absence of false modesty.

“I wish I could. If I could, I would do it. I mean, I think that the little Amy Winehouse song, This Is the Girl, is a perfect little song in that it’s self-contained. And there are certain things that we’ve done, certain improvisations or certain pieces, that even though they’re ours I’ve listened to them many, many, many times, like Memento Mori.

“And I like this record. I have to say, I really like our record. Imperfect or not, I’m happy with it.”